the sky is unfamiliar
by WingsOfTheYatagarasu
Summary: Ill, injured, and far from any place she might call home, Emmy reflects on what she's done. (AU oneshot, taking place shortly before AL. Part one of the Travels of Emmy Altava.)
**Hello, this is my first Layton fic! Please leave thoughts and feedback, because I may end up doing more work for this AU!**

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Emmy's gaze is pointed towards the deep night sky.

The countless clouds have finally parted, giving way to stars, one by one. A part of Emmy wants to focus on one star, as if looking at one would somehow clear her head a little and perhaps ease the pain in her twisted ankle. But, she reasons with herself, it's the night sky of some tiny, secluded town; the massive amount of stars make it impossible to focus on just one.

It's her ankle. That's what she blames for this. She looks down at it. Thick, rolled-up newspapers are tied around it, functioning as a splint after the last one, a few thin scraps of wood, broke apart.

She laughs a little at this; it's so pitiful that she stands here now, looking at the night sky when she should be inside, letting her mangled foot rest. It's pitiful that the only thing she had to secure the newspapers around her ankle was the bowtie around her neck, which isn't holding well at all. It's so pitiful that they're far enough out that she can't get any care for a sprain this severe, and all she can do is grin and bear it and chuckle at her own pain in hopes that they'll be back to civilization soon.

Every step she took out here was with her right foot, with her left side supported by whatever was nearby. Even now, her left arm is pressed against railing in front of the inn as she looks out at the town.

The blanket of snow that covers the town doesn't contrast with the sky above, but rather accents it, reflecting back the light from the stars and a waning gibbous moon and resting contentedly over buildings of dark brick. The road between the buildings is the only sign that there is much of anything going on in the town; indeed, though the buildings are finely and securely crafted, creating a row of various deep reds and browns, there are still very few buildings, particularly when compared to the places Emmy has visited in the past.

She can make out each business individually. To her left, a tailor. Across the street, a baker. Behind her, the inn she's supposed to be sleeping in. Businesses owned by the families of the town, and businesses that all know each other well. It's the small town mentality, the everyone-knows-everyone state of being. Simple.

Emmy has always hated simplicity, yet somehow finds herself envious of that kind of life.

After all, she'd give anything for a way out of what she's doing.

Emmy lets out a few shaky breaths, taking in the wet atmosphere of the town. It feels as though her lungs are going to freeze each time she inhales. She must look horrible, she thinks as she observes herself. Shivering in the cold and frozen winds, nose starting to run a little...She ponders, briefly, simply going back to the room for the night and seeing if she can't get to sleep through the sensation in her chest that feels like a nail has been driven into it, through the tightness in her throat and desperation to keep her emotions in check.

The sky is unfamiliar.

Emmy gently breathes in again, only to be greeted by what can only be described as a stab to the nose.

"Ah...Ha- _choo!"_

She sniffs a few times, trying in vain to hold back any further illness.

This is how it is for a few minutes. Emmy stands there, sniffling, hoping that she doesn't erupt into a sneezing fit and draw the attention of anyone who happened to be awake or, more likely, anyone she could potentially wake up.

Emmy sneezes again, but is greeted by another person after recovering from this one.

Specifically, she's greeted by a hand that offers her a handkerchief, which she reaches for. It swathes over her fingers before she gingerly lifts it to her nose and sniffles once more before blowing into it.

She's disgusted with her body-how dare it inflict a cold on her now, of all times. After all she'd done for it.

She's more disgusted with herself, however, especially when she looks the professor in the eye with the same smile she's always done it with, the same calm look, the look that told him she was okay. She's never been _okay._ She's thought of herself as _cheerful_ or _excited,_ but she hasn't been in a state of mind that could be described as entirely _okay_ for almost two-and-a-half years by now.

Not since she'd grown attached.

It was all supposed to be easy. All she had to do was monitor their process.

She wasn't supposed to get close. She wasn't supposed to even allow herself to get close. Had it just been an inevitable consequence of observing-No, she hadn't been observing them. She had been a partner, an _assistant._ All for this.

"How is your ankle, Emmy?"

She only hears compassion and concern from his words. There isn't an ounce of disdain, there never has been. Emmy is caught off-guard by the question, however. She hadn't noticed until now, but she has been standing with the handkerchief in her hands, staring down.

Emmy lets out a small gasp, but quickly regains her composure, pocketing the handkerchief for the time being.

"It's doing better," she answers, "I managed to get here, at least."

She lets out a soft laugh following her last word, hoping she'll at least be able to lighten the mood. The professor always seemed to carry a heavy atmosphere. Weights always lay on his shoulders, Emmy thinks, even if he failed to notice that they did. But did he ever fail to notice? Was that truly what was happening, or was it merely what people saw? Indeed, Professor Layton was an enigma in many ways.

A puzzle that he would have to solve himself.

The professor nods, his dark eyes closing for a moment in thought. The question of _does he know yet_ lingers in Emmy's mind. She hadn't wanted to be alone, in truth. She had wanted, and still wants, to talk with someone. Maybe that would be enough to settle the ache in her chest, to make it so that she'll be able to swallow when morning rolls around.

She'll never know until she tries.

"Actually," Emmy continues, "Could you walk with me, professor? I hate to admit this, but I won't be able to get much farther than this without support."

Layton opens his eyes once more, looking back at Emmy. Deep brown eyes meet deep brown eyes, though one would be forgiven for saying their eyes were completely black in color in the low light.

"I'd be more than happy to," he replies, "There was something I wanted to discuss with you."

He moves to Emmy's left, and Emmy wraps her arm around his shoulder. She's lifted a little when he stands upright, but her right foot remains firm on the ground as they walk down the steps of the inn and towards the road.

The sky is unfamiliar.

The walk is slow, of course, but it's almost refreshing to move around like this. Emmy hadn't been able to walk much since the incident, and it was always supported by someone. Layton had known this, of course he had. Even with every puzzle about himself that he hadn't solved, he was a master of solving the puzzles of others, figuratively and literally.

There is silence, despite the earlier hopes of conversation. The clouds are stagnant now, forming ribbons of deep blue beneath spots of gray.

Emmy breaks the silence gently.

"What was it you wanted to discuss, professor?" she asks, "Does it have something to do with those papers you were looking at earlier, maybe?"

"Indeed it does," Layton replies, "Emmy...Those documents contain information on the Azrans. I was surprised when I first read them myself. This information is...delicate, to say the least."

The Azrans.

A stab of guilt hits Emmy's chest again, and she flinches slightly. The professor gives her an understanding nod.

"...What do you mean?" Emmy asks, "What did these contain that was so important, anyway? While I can imagine that there'd be a fuss over these documents, I wouldn't have expected them to be so important that they'd have to be hidden."

Layton nods, looking out at the road ahead. Emmy hadn't noticed it until now, but the buildings all seem to look the same, variations in shades of red aside. She supposes it's better for the town. A small community like this can afford conformity. To some, she reminds herself, this level of similarity is comforting.

She looks to the professor. There's a look in his eyes that she's seen many times before. His brow is slightly furrowed, and his gaze is darkened by the shadows that the rim of his top hat provides. He isn't prepared to move forward or to look back, only to defend what he has now.

The look he'd had on his face when he had solved their past mysteries, a look that had perhaps been the strongest in Monte d'Or.

Somehow, however, it manages to look stronger here. Each crease in his expression is a stroke on a canvas, with the light and shadows positioned in such a way that he no longer looks at the space ahead, but through it, looking to the future for coming threats. No, not looking to the future, merely guessing it. Every single variable and every possibility.

"Translations," he says, with a strong, earnest quality to his voice, "Surprisingly few, but enough to be considered highly valuable. They may lead us somewhere, in fact."

"Nothing's certain, though?" Emmy guesses.

"Nothing yet. When we return to London, there's somebody I'm hoping to consult about this."

"Oh?"

The professor looks back to Emmy. The buildings around them have become sparse.

Snowflakes fall gently around them.

The sky is unfamiliar.

Emmy feels her heart begin to beat harder than ever. He _knows,_ doesn't he? She's had several moments like this over the course of her journey. Moments where she's wondered if the professor has finally caught on to her secret agenda. At this moment, however, she's sure of it. He knows what she's doing.

They walk in silence once more.

His arm is warm, or at least as warm as it can be in the weather they're in. They haven't gone any faster since they started, but this is what Emmy had wanted. She had wanted, and still wants, this walk to be slow. To last. She wants slow, quiet, calming finality.

The end of the town is barren.

The road doesn't change; it leads through a forest, the forest they plan to head through when they leave. The winds pick up again, blowing against a signpost that, long ago, would have had a sign that greeted those entering from this end and bid farewell to those leaving.

"...Aren't we going to turn back now?" Emmy asks, feigning obliviousness.

The professor's eyes meet hers, and he looks through her.

"...Emmy," Layton begins, "I'm sure you've realized by now that this isn't all I was hoping to discuss."

Silence.

Emmy wants to look away. Her eyes remained locked on the piercing eyes of the man in front of her. It was odd. These eyes had normally been friendly, calming, reassuring. They had never been so grim, at least not towards Emmy.

The sound of blood flowing begins to drown out the winds around Emmy.

It seems like an eternity passes before Emmy backs away. Slowly, at first, before tearing herself away from the professor's arm, desperately trying to move back. She heaves out breaths, hoping that she won't be able to hear his words about this.

Emmy wants to leave him quietly.

She wants to leave him and Luke quietly, before this gets any worse.

He had looked upon her with slight caution for some time now.

Emmy barely feels herself falling, barely feels the splint around her ankle come undone, until that sharp pain shoots through her body and she's caught by her right arm mid-fall.

"Please," Emmy gasps through her shallow, desperate breaths, "Don't do this."

Layton shakes his head.

"Emmy," he begins, "You have no more reason to be afraid of this. At the very least, if you're going to leave, I want you to leave when you've healed."

"...Wh...What?"

"Luke and I hold nothing against you, and we only wish you the best. We simply cannot stand by while you put yourself in danger...Particularly in this sort of danger."

Emmy closes her eyes. She can't tell what it is-the cold, the sheer emotion, or simply pure exhaustion-but she feels a pounding headache forming.

She's wanted. They care this much about her-Well, she can't exactly talk to Luke about this, given that he's fast asleep in their hotel room-that they're willing to go to these lengths to stop her from making decisions like this.

Decisions like running off into the world with nothing on her back.

In hindsight, it was a terrible idea. That, to Emmy, was simply further punishment for what she'd done.

"I...I don't know what to say, professor," Emmy breathes, "I thought I'd have to leave in the end. You...You still can't be certain that I'm on your side, can you? Not after realizing that."

"I can," Layton replies, "The only evidence I need now is your ankle, Emmy."

"My-Ah...Of course."

It flashes back to her now.

How the injury came to be in the first place.

" _G-Get out of the way, Luke!"_

" _Wh-Wha-AAAH!"_

 _The world slows, fading into nothing, save for Emmy, the boy still getting up in the road…_

 _And the deep rumble that slowly draws nearer._

 _He can't get out of the way in time, not while he's still recovering from the fall he just took. Emmy's heartbeat quickens and lightens, all at once, and her body immediately springs into action before her mind can have a say._

 _She dashes forward, hooking her arms under Luke's._

" _I-It's okay!" she assures him as she grabs him, "I've got you!"_

Emmy feels tears forming in the corners of her eyes and looks away.

She really is pitiful, she thinks.

She winces at the pain coursing through her ankle, the numbness that the cold had provided now wearing off.

 _Without another word, Emmy leaps forward, a cloud of dust mere inches from her face as she lands hard at the entrance to an alleyway._

 _She's gone numb to everything, even to whether or not Luke is okay. She simply stands, hoping feeling will come back to her and tell her she succeeded._

 _Unless she's already met her violent and sudden demise._

 _No, that couldn't be right. Emmy swears she feels weight on her arms-_ weight. _That's all she needs to feel, and it all rushes into her. She saved his life. She_ saved his life.

 _A sharp pain in her ankle alerts her to reality._

" _E-Emmy, your foot!"_

 _Emmy looks down. Her eyes widen at the sight of her foot, twisted at an angle that it should_ definitely _not be at. She swallows a wave of nausea before looking back to Luke._

" _D-Don't worry about me, Luke. How are you doing after that?"_

" _You...You just saved my life, Emmy! Please don't worry about me!"_

 _Emmy falls silent, eyes finally shutting tight in pain._

" _Please, Luke...Is the hotel nearby…? I would think that we've walked long enough that we're almost there…"_

" _I-It is! Are you sure you'll be okay, Emmy?!"_

" _J-Just get the professor here! He'll be able to get me to-Ah! S-Safety…."_

 _Luke nods, dashing off towards...Emmy can't tell anymore. She's been hiding her pain, as always, though she has to admit, physical pain is that much harder to hide when a person's mind is what's always hurt._

"Professor, even when I do heal...What are we going to do then? What's going to happen after we leave this town?"

"Right now, we need to concentrate on getting back to London, Emmy," Layton explains, "You're going to be fine. We'll make sure of this."

The pain in Emmy's chest subsides slightly.

At the very least, she'll be able to eat the next morning, she hopes.

Without thinking, she wraps her arms around the professor, finally letting her emotions fly out.

"I'm sorry," Emmy gasps, "Y-You...You just saved my life, professor. I don't know how I'll do it, but I'm going to repay you in the future for this. You can count on that."

"There's no need, Emmy. This is the duty of a gentleman, after all. Are you ready to head back to our room?"

Emmy nods.

The sky is unfamiliar.

Even without the stars, it's unfamiliar, sending out more snow as time passes. It's a light flurry, but the snowfall is rapidly escalating, becoming more and more vicious as the two walk.

"Professor, I just can't believe that this dragged you all the way out here."

"It's fine, Emmy. We're only here because we must be, after all."

Emmy shakes her head at this.

The red brick buildings begin to line the street once more as the two head back into town.

Emmy's ankle throbs sharply.

The thought of being gone the following morning fades from her head, and she smiles, a few tears escaping her eyes once again.

"We're here," Emmy says, "Because I thought it'd be a good idea to say something, remember? I just couldn't keep my mouth shut. Not after what happened that night."

"Emmy, what you did is admirable. No matter what passes, or what you've done...You are still my assistant."

Emmy's head is still pounding, and she becomes aware of her runny nose again.

She smiles, taking the handkerchief from her pocket.


End file.
